


Nightcap

by Antonius



Category: Black Books, The Odyssey - Homer
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Crack, Black Books - AU, Crack, F/M, Gen, One-Shot, The Odyssey - AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antonius/pseuds/Antonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bernard Black returns from an epic journey to find that his wife, Fran, has decided to try and remarry in his absence. Crack!fic. Also serves as an AU source for Fran's own alcoholism. Consider it a bizarre origin story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightcap

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as an assignment for a fiction class at University back in 2011. The assignment was to take an existing setting and situation, then put your own characters into it to put a spin on things. I took The Odyssey and threw Bernard and Fran into the place of Odysseus and Penelope. I changed their names when I turned it in, but Ctrl+F-ing and changing them back to Bernard and Fran makes it obvious that I just wrote a fanfiction and turned it in. Got an A, too. A winner is me.
> 
> Note that, as if it matters, I don't actually ship anything in Black Books except for Bernard/Wine.

"Are you trying to tell me that ALL of these men are here to court you, Fran? ALL of them?" Bernard was furious with disbelief. Having just returned from two grueling decades abroad, he'd returned to his home only to find it beset upon by several dozen men, all claiming to be courting his wife. Fran looked at him like he just came back from the pub downtown rather than a voyage that lasted longer than their entire relationship. She refused to back down or apologize for looking into remarrying.

"Yes, Bernard. ALL of them. You sound as if you think I shouldn't have suitors." Bernard sputtered at this, pulling Fran into their doorway in order to whisper at her privately.

" _I should think not_ , _**I'm** your bloody husband_! What do your suitors think of _that_?" Fran just rolled her eyes.

"Well, since you've shown up just now after being absent for TWENTY YEARS, they don't mind terribly, and nor do I."

"Fran, I _told_ you, I was away on important military-type business and things, I got back here as soon as I could!"

"I'm sure. All the same, I would appreciate it if you left now and allowed me to resume being courted by men who won't disappear on me for two decades without even a telegram's notice every few years." Bernard, having neither the time nor the patience to explain to Fran what the last twenty years of his life had been like at this very moment, disposed with the whispers and began to bellow loud enough for the entire block to hear.

"I will _not_ stand by, Fran. This is an outrage!" He wheeled around on his heels, pointing an accusing finger out at the men in the yard. "You! You strange, smelly men out there! _I_ am Fran's husband, and _you_ should all just sod off! She's already married _and she has no interest in_ —" Bernard was cut off by Fran's fingers, which tightly (and painfully) gripped his face into a puckered fish-expression as if he were a child.

"Bernard, I am _very close_ to slapping you so hard that you wake up back in your infancy." Bernard, knowing and fearing the strength of his wife's corrective blows, put his hands forward as a calming gesture and tried to reason with her.

"Fran, _come on_. This is undignified. We're husband and wife, can't we just fight and make up like all the other couples?" Fran, incensed at the idea that she would just _"kiss and make up"_ after **twenty years** of absence, shoved Bernard back with such force that he collided with the door hard enough to pull its hinges loose. He stared up at her, at a loss for words. Fran pointed a cruel finger towards the street.

"Absolutely not. Now kindly get off of my property."

"But—I don't—"

"NOW."

Bernard, knowing when he'd been beaten but also unwilling to accept such a defeat, reared up for a second onslaught against the ruffians trying to get it on with his wife.

"Fine, then. I know what I'll do." He turned, again, to the crowd. "You! Yes, you again, you men out there! I am Fran's husband, as you may recall I said earlier, and I challenge you all to a fight to the death for her!" Both Fran and the crowd stared at Bernard with disbelief (and some with bemusement) as he began to hop around in the yard, putting up his fists in a terrible imitation of a professional boxer. He threw air-punches past the heads of a couple of fellows, none of whom took him seriously enough to retaliate.

"Come on, then! What are you, cowards? Come on! Battle Royale! Have at you!" Bernard took a swing at a man to his left only to find his fist caught in Fran's hand, and his arm twisted behind his back in an excruciatingly humiliating (and surprisingly fluid) show of dominance. Wanting to contain the scene brewing in her yard, Fran leaned close to hiss into Bernard's ear.

"BERNARD. _SHUT. UP_." Even with his face level with the ground, Bernard refused to back down. Not without difficulty, he twisted his neck so he could see and yell at Fran.

"No! If this is how I have to get you back, then I'll do it." Fran continued hissing in his ear, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"And you were calling ME undignified? You just challenged 40-odd men to a deathmatch in front of the entire neighborhood, Bernard. _In our front yard_." Bernard tried to crumble to the ground, but Fran held him fast.

"I just...ARGH. Fine, point taken. Nevermind, men. But we're still going to compete. A drinking contest!" Fran gave up her hold on Bernard, seeing that obviously keeping him bent over double with his arse in the air wasn't going to quiet him down. She cocked her head to the side and responded.

"…A drinking contest?"

"Yes. I am fabulous at drinking—"

"—I _know_ —"

 "—and I am certain that I can outdrink all of these men in order to win your hand in marriage. Er. In...staying married. There, so we're all agreed, yes?"

 " _No_ , Bernard—"

 "—Splendid! Now come on in, men, no hard feelings, just an honest contest. Let's all head down to the cellar and we'll start this off handily, yeah?" The group of men glanced briefly at Fran for some indication of what they should do, and at her curt, defeated nod, they all followed Bernard into and below his home. Fran waited in her kitchen as several hours passed with a silence that was driving her mad. Just when she was about to tromp downstairs and see what exactly was going on, she pulled the door open to find Bernard right on the other side, staring cross-eyed right through her and having obvious difficulty staying upright. He twisted his face into what he thought was a smile, but was in fact the most terrifying facial expression Fran had ever seen. He spoke slowly, over-enunciating his words and exhaling loudly after every sentence.

 "I won." As he opened his mouth, Fran fought the sudden urge to faint. His breath smelled like death.

 "Dear sweet, merciful lord. I can tell. Hooooo. Please breathe in _that_ direction."

 "I hope this shows you that I'm the only man for you, Jessic—Fran. FRAN." Bernard stumbled forward as he said this, expecting Fran to catch him, but she deftly strafed to her right, leaving Bernard to fall flat on his face with a crunch that sounded rather painful. He hardly seemed to notice, now speaking to the linoleum.

 "I'm glad this mess is over now, Fran."

 "What did you call me?"

 "Fran! I called you Fran." Bernard was unable to rise in any way, instead resorting to flailing his arms about as he spoke, looking much like an ostrich with its head buried who has just discovered the hole it chose was filled with fire ants. Fran ignored his ineffectual battering of her legs.

 " _You called me Jessica_." Her jaw was set and her eyes were fiery, though Bernard could see neither. He kept up his flailing, eventually rolling over to reveal a sickening bruise forming on his face. Fran paid it no mind.

 "It's in the past now! No use in digging up ancient history. All buried. Let's go to bed." Fran was prepared at this point to roll him right back down the stairs and lock him in the cellar, but as she moved to do so, she remembered the other men down there.

 "Wait...Bernard, where are all of the suitors? None of them came back up." Bernard, now barely able to keep his eyes open at all, waved away her concern.

 "They're all blacked out in the cellar, love. They'll come up in the morning and see themselves out, I'm sure of it." Fran ignored him and reached for the guardrail, stepping over Bernard’s limp figure and slowly working her way into the dark cellar. Bernard, his mind elsewhere, was nearly asleep when he was wracked back to the here and now by a piercing shriek he was sure had to have come from a harpy.

 "AAAAAAAHHH! BERNARD, _THEY'RE **DEAD**!_ _ALL DEAD!_ And there's piss and sick bloody _EVERYWHERE_ , dear god, _what on earth happened?_ " Now quite close to blacking out himself, Bernard found it difficult both to respond and to care. Still, he did his best.

 "Oh, I s'pose they've all gotten alcohol poisoning and kicked the bucket. Funny how that works out, eh?" Fran, her voice now shaking with fear, turned to him in disbelief.

 "Bernard, some of these men weigh three times as much as you. _How much did you drink?_ "

 "Not much, really, they're a mob of lightweights, started falling down after the first few glasses...mmfhblbb..." Fran had stopped listening, and let Bernard mumble to himself for a few moments while she went to the back to look at the house's cache. She came back white-faced, as if within she'd found a ghost (or several).

 "...Bernard, the wine cases are empty."

 "Well ‘course they are, we had to drink them."

 "No, Bernard, you don't understand. They're ALL empty. There was enough alcohol here to kill at least two elephants and several small children."

 "Wasn't that much."

 " _But it was_. I don't understand how you...I don't...what are you doing?!" Bernard had suddenly began punching himself in the abdomen, and Fran ran up to hold his arms.

 "Stop, Bernard! You're acting like an infant!"

 "Let go, you git! My liver's screaming, I have to calm him. HUSH, YOU. YOU'VE BEEN FED, KEEP QUIET." This was all too much for Fran, who dropped Bernard's arms and sat on the floor at his side, rocking back and forth for several moments.

 "Nothing will erase what I've seen tonight, Bernard. I don't know if I can deal with this." At that, Bernard pointed (as best he could) up to the fridge, on top of which several bottles of hard liquor stood.

 "Perhaps you should have a drink, Fran. Clears up the brain like that." He tried to snap his fingers with gusto, but only managed to poke himself in the eye. Fran stared at the bottles for a moment, then rose slowly, helping Bernard up as well and letting him rest against her for balance. With her free hand, she took one of the bottles down from the fridge and led both of them towards the table as she uncorked it, speaking as much to herself as to Bernard.

 "Yes...yes, perhaps that would be best."


End file.
